


The Beginning

by tarthmsuoh



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Minecraft, Minecraft Wither, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, The Nether (Minecraft), minecraft youtubers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarthmsuoh/pseuds/tarthmsuoh
Summary: Wilbur, Tommy, Technoblade, and Philza are pushed miles out of their comfort zone when Tubbo convinces the four of them to kill the Wither with him.All major character deaths are temporary as this is Minecraft.Thank you so much @/cait_web34 (@/crunchcasual on tumblr!) for being an amazing beta reader :]
Comments: 7
Kudos: 127





	1. Prologue

Ever since the beginning, the four of them fairly separated their tasks amongst themselves, their synergy effective and efficient. Phil gathered them materials, sometimes in astonishingly abundant amounts. It was an automatic procedure; if he saw a forest, he chopped and replanted, chopped and replanted. If he saw a cave system, it would be stripped of the majority of its contents in just a few days. Wilbur and Tommy helped construct their base, trying their best, though they knew it did not matter. One way or another, they’d only sleep, wake up, work, talk, and repeat. They couldn’t think of anything else they might have to do in the base itself. And last but not least, Techno. He protected them while they carried out their duties, the wails of the zombies and the snapping of skeleton bones shaking them to their cores. He remained victorious most of the time, coming back to them with his clothes streaked in rotten blood and his sword scratched from broken bones.

Other times, he was not always so lucky. Other times, Techno would come within an inch of his life, the tables turning and he’d be the one being protected. He’d feel like a burden, absolute shit, useless, but Phil would always insist otherwise. On the rarer occasions, the results would be just a bit more drastic: death, either a slow and gradual or exponentially violent one. Like when Techno’s fight with a creeper went terribly wrong.

The four of them were mining, although Techno less so, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword, more focused on listening out for mobs than excavating ore. And a mob did he get while the other three were tag teaming a vein of coal. Upon the creeper’s explosion, the others’ ears rang in pulsating vibration. The sheer wind pressure of it knocked Tommy off his feet, his thinner build unable to support himself, and Wilbur and Phil felt something warm strike the backs of their necks. They both knew what they’d find when they turned around. No surprise took its place on their faces, only despondency and horror as they processed that the walls of the cave system were painted in scarlet and decorated in their friend’s cooked guts, the remnants of his red robes in tattered ashen shambles and his iron armor chipped and melted on the dirty cave floor. He _must_ have received damage before this without informing them, as there was no way he could have died from a single creeper’s blast.

Knowing he would be back in a few minutes did not console them, and no sooner had Wilbur turned around than he visually caught Tommy’s choked sobs, his mouth opening and retracting like a goldfish’s. He kneeled in front of the boy, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and trying to utter words of succor before he realized he could barely even hear himself, never mind if Tommy could. Upon his realization, he studied Tommy’s face, then Phil’s, who was still surveying the bloodied walls in a terrorized sort of awe. Their faces were tinted red from the sheer heat and force of the blast, and only then did Wilbur realize how much his skin itched and crawled.

When Techno eventually arrived back at the cave in what felt like hours, he gave the scene one stoic survey before picking up his scorched iron sword, and left behind his broken armor. He didn’t have much on him to begin with, just a couple seeds, an iron pickaxe, some sticks, and saplings. He only picked up the sticks and pickaxe. They never talked about it. What was the point? He died, respawned, came back, and things carried on as usual. Well, mostly usual. Tommy was traumatized, and couldn’t step foot in a dark cave for quite a while unless the others lit it up beforehand, allowing him to see the walls.

Skip forward to the present, long after the red walls, after Tommy’s temporary trauma subsided, after they lit their first Nether portal, and long after they first entered the End, and they have an obsidian black dragon’s egg sitting in the same room as their enchantment table, a faint sound of wind coming from inside, like a never-ending monsoon. Out of everything they’ve ever collected in the past, this particular egg seemed to have grown on Tommy, washing him in a feeling of pure adoration, and who could not explain it in any other way when Wilbur inquired him on why he just stared at it every day.

When Tubbo joined their world, needless to say things got a bit more interesting, considering that they didn’t have much else to do after slaying the dragon. Items and blocks around their base would end up missing, but never the egg. It was unquestionably always Tubbo, but they never managed to figure out exactly _where_ the items were, considering that Tubbo never even slept in the same room as them.


	2. Enchanter

“Where the fuck is it?” Wilbur’s echoing shout wakes Phil, starting him up with a hazy vision and prickling back. Looking out the window behind him, he sees that it’s way too early for this shit. The sky is just starting to lighten up, the crack of dawn barely tinting it a leaden-blue color. Glancing around, he notices that Tommy is already out of bed with his sneakers on, and Techno is just beginning to stir.

Following Tommy out, the two of them make their way to their enchantment room. Before even stepping foot inside, Phil feels a change of atmosphere. No longer does he feel a foreign force of ancient scripture pulling him further into the walls of library books, instead now a barren and cold space. He looks past Tommy’s shoulder, and his suspicions are confirmed; their enchantment table is gone. The dark oak where it was is a richer color than the surrounding wooden floor.

Tommy’s is the second voice Phil hears that morning. “Where’d it go?”

Wilbur looks at him in utter disbelief. “Where do you think, Tommy?” he asks. “Fucking Tubbo, man. It was cute at first, but I’m seriously at my limit.”

“What? Why are you immediately pinning this on Tubbo?” Tommy is always quick to jump to his defense, not even thinking twice. “They wouldn’t just take an entire fucking enchantment table!”

“How would you even know what that little gremlin does or doesn’t do? We don’t even know where he sleeps, for fuck’s sake!”

Hearing footsteps behind them, Phil steps out of the room and lets the two of them continue to argue. The idea that it might not be a good move on his part flashes for a second in his head, but he can’t really care this early in the morning. Techno is just stepping out of their bunk room, finishing pinning the last golden button of his shirt. He looks naked without his crown or regal red robes. His eyes barely open, he squints against the heavy light of the morning sun spilling in through the windows.

“What’s happenin’?” He asks gruffly through a yawn, his partially concealed tusks now fully visible, jutting out from his pale gums.

Phil shrugs. “Tubbo stole the enchantment table. Wilbur and Tommy are arguing. Not much different from yesterday.”

Just as he finishes speaking, the door behind Phil creaks open and he snaps his head around, immediately alert. It’s just Tubbo, one foot in the door and eyes like a deer’s in the headlights. He’s holding their enchantment table. Knuckles white from gripping it, he gingerly puts it down and timidly waves to Phil and Techno.

“Good morning,” he says sweetly, as if he wasn’t just returning one of their precious belongings he’d probably stolen during the night.

The bickering in the enchantment room stops, and heavy footsteps creak the wooden floor of their base.

“Tubbo, what the fuck?” “Tubbo!” Phil hears Wilbur and Tommy say at the same time from behind him.

“Hi Tommy,” Tubbo says with a grin as he waves at him. Then he diverts his attention to Wilbur. “Um—I take it that you’re talking about the enchanting table?” He points down at it.

“Obviously.”

“Well, you see—“ they huff as they pick the enchantment table back up—“I needed it to enchant stuff. As one might do with an enchantment table.”

Phil cuts in this time, preventing Wilbur from stammering any more. “Couldn’t you just use it while it was still here?”

Tubbo stops in their tracks, tilting their head in thought. “Fair point.” They continue into the enchantment room. “But I just thought, oh, what the hell. Much more comfortable to do it at my place, anyways.” They place the enchantment table back where it belongs.

“Your place?” Wilbur and Phil ask at the same time, offering each other confused glances. Techno seems unsurprised, his eyes still impassive.

“Yep. Hidden base, tip-top secret.” Tubbo doesn’t say anything else.

“Called it,” was all Techno says, but Wilbur and Phil don’t seem to hear him. He exchanges a nondescript fist bump with Tommy, though, and Tubbo gives them a little chuckle.

“Why did you need the enchantment table so bad anyways, Wilbur?” Tubbo shifts the attention of the room onto the tired man, who Techno just notices is holding his trusty diamond sword.

“Maybe because some _bitch_ disenchanted my best sword as some stupid fucking prank.” Wilbur stares daggers into the nape of Tommy’s neck. The flaxen-haired boy laughs quietly, biting his thumb to stifle it anyways.

“Why… why so early in the morning though?” Tommy asks through his giggles, not looking behind him.

“It’s not like it even matters right now,” Tubbo chimes in, looking around and scratching his head. Then he raises his eyebrows in realization. “Well, you guys sure caught me at a bad time. I was planning on bringing them later when you guys were awake… but I guess right now is as good a time as any.”

He walks out of the base without saying another word, leaving the birch door open behind him and the floral view of the plains ahead of him visible in the ever rising sun. It was a peaceful sight, the sun stretching Tubbo’s shadow into their home, his green shirttails covering the tops of his thighs and his brown hair mussy and heavily contrasted against his pale skin.

As nonchalant as ever, Tubbo turns around. They give Techno, Tommy, Phil, and Wilbur an excited glance, lips twisted in a mischievous bearing. Then in one moment, they have a spherical bottle gripped in their hand, in another there's the sound of broken glass, and Tubbo is no longer there. Everyone hears the crunching of dirt under their shoes as they walk away, though.

“That bitch has a _plan!_ ” Tommy shouts, spittle escaping past his teeth as he runs up to the doorway and looks in the direction he heard Tubbo walk away in.

Techno reacts differently. “Why would he waste a perfectly good invisibility potion? What?” He gestures towards the door with aimless hands, honest confusion readable on his face. As he struggles to make sense of it, he holds his head in his hands and Phil laughs.

Wilbur’s chuckling as well, all anger apparently now dissipated. “The dramatic factor, Techno. Go farm potatoes or some shit, you’re much more useful with that than with trying to comprehend theatrical factors.”

“You’re such a bitch, Wilbur,” Phil quips, punching his shoulder with a comical grin lazily plastered on his face. He walks past his two companions to try and get more rest, something he doesn’t deem as possible. But when he shuts the door behind him, the light flowing in through the windows and illuminating dust particles still soft, he dozes off into a shallow sloom as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Wilbur’s and Techno’s gazes follow Phil up until the moment when they hear the door behind them slam, causing Wilbur to jump and Techno to straighten his back in an attentive manner. They both look back at the entrance of their home, or base, or what they individually choose to call it in this moment. They hear an exuberant “Wait up!” from outside, the exclamation already strangely echoed and fading away into the depths of Techno’s mind. Tommy is off on his own adventure, and they don’t know when he and their enigma of a friend will return.


	3. Taking Inventory

The only trail Tommy has on an invisible Tubbo is the almost unnoticeable indents he makes in the grass and dust of the dirt as he walks. At this point in time, he’s only been following him for just a minute or two, crossing into the thick forest that curves behind their base. It’s an almost spiritual experience, walking through the flora. Golden sunrise light filters through the interstices of the forest’s canopy, engraving everything with the leaves’ black dapples of shadow. When a rabbit dashes past his feet in a frenzy, he stops in his tracks and listens out for any more giveaways as to where his friend might have gone.

“Tubbo?” he calls out into the empty spaces between the trees, the overhanging leaves, and the towering vegetation of ferns and grass. A breeze blows on Tommy’s boyish cheek and the foliage ahead of him stops rustling.

“Yeah?”

“Where the hell are you, big man?” Tommy gingerly makes his way towards the thicket, arms outstretched and searching. Before he knows it, his ankle catches onto something and he falls face-first into the ferns, cheeks and palms scratched. He lets out an _oof!_ of surprise and pain as the wind is knocked out of him.

Tommy groans as he lifts himself to his hands and knees. “Sorry!” Tubbo says, but don’t sound like they mean it at all. They’re cackling from somewhere above Tommy, who tries to glare at the source of the sound. But, soon enough, a grin breaks through and he starts dissolving into laughter as well, sitting down and rubbing his stinging palms.

Just as he feels a pair of delicate hands grab onto his own raw ones, a vision of pale arms stumbles in and out of transparency in front of his very eyes, and Tubbo abruptly materializes in lieu of the empty expanse of air. He helps Tommy up, and waits for him as he pats down his clothes to sweep off any leaves, grass, or dirt.

“Well, I take it you didn’t bring me all the way out here just to bust my face into some grass, eh?” Tommy asks as he looks around. Tubbo says nothing, only walks into the viridity of the thicket, and his friend follows suit. “Or… to kill me? Because you know I’ll just respawn, right?”

“Tommy, you are one of the stupidest people I know.”

Tommy gasps, feigning shock as he puts his hand to his chest offendedly.

“Well, I’ll have you know, Tubbo! I know what ‘attest’ means.” When he and Tubbo break through into a clearing, his sentence falters. “So… checkmate.” He surveys this area, making sense of where exactly they might be. All around this clearing except for one side is the vegetation they had just gotten out of, as far as the eye could see. And they can’t even see that far, the thick trunks of the forest obscuring their sight. The last side, the one they currently face, is the bottom of a hill, or a mountain. Tommy can’t tell from under the thick cover of leaves.

Tubbo walks up to this wall of soil and rock, dragging his rosy fingertips along a stretch of dirt that reaches his waist. He twists his head around to look at the clueless boy behind him. “Come on, man! You have to be quick.” He reaches his hand into a discreet slit that makes this ledge and the andesite wall of the hill perpendicular.

Tommy takes the hint and rushes up to them, still a bit unsure. But when he hears the press of a button from the dark crevice that engulfs Tubbo’s hand in a glove of shadow, which is followed by the clicking of redstone mechanisms, he understands.

“The entrance is a crawling space,” Tubbo explains. They’re pointing at the wall of stone standing next to the truncated ledge of dirt that now has streaks of upturned dust from their fingers.

As soon as the sound of pistons coughs up from under the ground, Tubbo shoves Tommy down to get him to start crawling in. The bottom section of the muted wall is pulled downwards, and the two boys start shuffling in on their hands and knees. Unfortunately, the redstone repeaters that had been set up by Tubbo were not made for the amount of time it takes for more than one person to get in.

In one instant, Tubbo is indifferent, the damp earthy scent making its way to his nostrils like it always did, knees and palms dusting up and sweat lining the nape of his neck. In another, there’s only the coughing sound of pistons and a piercing, fissuring green agony shooting up his shin.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Tommy hears Tubbo scream behind him. He immediately doubles back, heart pumping quickly and fingers beginning to quiver. Tubbo’s foot is caught in the corner of the roof and wall, knee bent to prevent from pulling it any more. His head is buried in his forearms, ribs and chest expanding with every leveling breath that borderlines a gasp he takes.

“What happened?” Tommy wheezes out in a panic. Without thinking, he grabs onto his friend’s wrists and tries to pull them out, a grave mistake. Tubbo immediately yelps, twisting and pulling a hand free, smacking Tommy’s cheek. This in turn frees their other hand from his sweaty grip.

Tubbo pants, the pain now worse, and they feel their foot begin to swell in a yellow heat. “Button,” they utter weakly. Before Tommy sees where they point, they already press it themselves. A few redstone repeaters later and they pull their foot free. A few seconds pass. “What are you waiting for?” Tubbo asks, meeting Tommy’s panicked gaze with their own icy one.

Tommy nods, swallowing spit and turning around to continue making his way forward. He sees a set of stairs just a few blocks ahead, and twists his head to check up on Tubbo. He’s dragging himself along, now dusting up his forearms and elbows as well, the dirt reaching his sweaty cheeks and clean shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he reaches the staircase, standing up now and stretching his limbs. He feels a small blast of cool air hit his reddened face. “Is it broken?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.” Tubbo doesn’t stand up, only continues to drag himself upwards, streaks of dirt lining the wooden stairs. In Tubbo’s compact base, the walls are lined with acacia planks, an enchantment corner at the far end and a bed right across from it. The rest of the space is taken up by chests that line the orange walls. Right next to Tommy by the entranceway is a sheaf of wheat and sticks fashioned to make a broom of sorts.

“Sorry,” Tommy says again, unable to shake his guilt away.

Tubbo shrugs, pulling himself up by the chests and putting all his weight on his unharmed foot, his right one. “Ultimately, it’s fine, really—“ he interrupts himself to grunt in exertion as he opens a chest and delicately delves through the colorful liquid-filled bottles—“because I… have…” He finally pulls out a bottle filled with a tooth-achingly red liquid. “I have potions.” He pops it open and chugs the ambiguously-flavored nectar, smacking his lips at the strange aftertaste.

The two of them sit down across from each other, Tommy heavily relying on the wall and Tubbo with their back unwaveringly rigid. The latter takes off their left shoe and examines their swollen foot.

Tommy grabs the broom and starts picking at the chipped wood with stubby fingernails. “Looking better?” he asks half-heartedly, suddenly a wee bit tired.

“Yeah.”

“Gonna be able to walk on it soon?”

“You know what? I think I’ll actually saw it off. Will speed up the process real fast.”

Tommy grins, chucking the broom brush end-first at Tubbo. “Dick.” The broom misses entirely.

Tubbo laughs at him and, seeing that their swollen foot has already calmed down, puts their shoe back on and stands up. “Alright, enough lolly-gagging—“

“ _Lolly-gagging?_ ”

“Shut up! Seriously, I came here to bring swords back to the others and you are just a useless heap of skin and bones.”

Tommy puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright! Alright! No need to attack me.” He wipes his hands on his thighs before standing back up. “How can I help?” Solemnity suddenly hardens his expression.

Tubbo bites his lip in thought. “You can just take these,” he says as he opens another chest, pulling shimmering diamond sword after shimmering diamond sword. There’s only five, and ten items total when he pulls out the swords’ corresponding leather sheaths and belts.

The other boy stacks the swords in a heavy pile in his arms as Tubbo loops the belts onto his shoulder.

“Don’t you think it’ll be easier to put the swords in those?” Tommy nods his head at the leather belts. “To compact the load.”

When Tubbo agrees, they both spend a few minutes fitting the swords into their sheaths and comfortably adjusting on their own belts, getting used to the weight. Once finished, the two of them, drunk on delightful excitement and optimistic expectations, share one concise look before making their way back out the warm earthy hallway.

Pressing the button, Tommy gets out first. Donning one belt and holding two others, he’s already out of breath. But standing there, alone in the clearing and hearing the musical notes of a distant bird’s cry, he’s collected again.

When Tubbo gets out, the first thing he does is stretch, adjusting the belt onto his burning shoulder again. When he stands by Tommy’s side, the brunet lays his head on his friend’s shoulder, taking in the serene moment. The sparse early morning light that filters through the leaves hits his face in a warm beam.

“Ready to go?” Tommy asks after a few more moments of quietude, straightening his back and looking down at his shorter companion.

“Race you?”

Tommy grins in agreement, the two of them getting ready to sprint at their own versions of breakneck speed.

Tubbo starts the countdown. “Three—“ and Tommy is adjusting the two belts on his shoulders—“two—” and he’s inhaling deeply—“one.”

Grass rips under their feet and all they can hear are their heartbeats, the wind, the dirt. They’d hear the chirping of birds if they weren’t caught up in each other’s breathy laughter.


	4. Time to Farm!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the hiatus. Hope I haven’t left you guys too disappointed with the wait!! Sorry it’s a bit of a short one, next chapter will be longer :]

Standing among the thick and verdant waist-high sprouts of his field, Techno opens his arms wide and lets the sun bathe his hands and face. The air is growing warmer, the sky brighter and the forest more colorful. A ways behind him sits the base, his home, an outwardly small expanse of brick and wood. Ahead of him reposes the long expanse of his potato farm, rows of upturned dirt and shimmering water and green forests of low leaves. A diamond hoe is at his side.

He sighs, the sudden rush of air coming out as a weak snort from his snout, and begins his harvesting. Dirt sprays onto his boots and work pants as he pulls root after root, the spuds stacking up as he shoves them into his accompanying haversack. If someone had been watching from a bird’s-eye view, all they’d see is the long arrays of green sprouts turning to rows upon rows of brown dirt like pools of magma when covered in water.

Not even halfway through pulling all the potatoes, Techno instinctively trains his ears onto distant laughter and whoops coming from the direction of the trees. Looking up, he sees a speck that is a dirtied Tubbo crash through the tall grass, cheeks flushed and a light limp to their gait. Right after them comes a struggling Tommy, who, upon taking just a couple steps out the vegetation, collapses onto his knees as he lets a pair of sheathed swords fall to the grass.

Techno gives a confused look in their direction, squinting to try and see them better. He then shrugs and continues pulling potatoes, going into autopilot once more.

“That was _not_ a fair race,” Tommy says between pants, each intake sounding like his dying breath, his chest quaking. His scraped hands are the only thing keeping him from face planting into another bed of grass.

“How come?” Tubbo asks, a proud smile and a triumphant voice rubbing it in Tommy’s face.

“First off—“ he wobbles a bit as he stands up, the swords still abandoned on the ground—“I had to carry two swords, you had one.”

Tubbo looks up to meet Tommy’s gaze. “I broke my foot like twenty minutes ago.”

“And drank a potion of instant healing or some shit.”

The brunet shrugs and, when he notices movement from the corner of his eye, turns and sees Technoblade out on his potato field, doing his thing.

“We’re both contradicting ourselves anyways,” he points out. “Techno!” Tubbo shouts through cupped hands.

Techno doesn’t hear him, too fixated on properly hilling a premature potato. 

“You’re the only one contradicting… one’s self. Oneself?” He follows their gaze. “Ah, leave him be,” Tommy advises as he waves Tubbo’s futile attempts to get Techno’s attention away. “When he’s farming, he’s in his own world. His own weird little potato world.” Tommy glances at Tubbo to see if he got even a small smile out of them.

Tubbo is suddenly timid, promptly interested with the seams of the belt they're holding as they fumble with it. “I want to know what he thinks of the swords.”

Tommy’s heart sinks with empathy, understanding. He starts walking towards the occupied Techno, set on getting him to acknowledge Tubbo’s craftsmanship.

“Tommy?” Tubbo, all of a sudden alarmed, asks. “Tommy, please don’t bother him on my behalf—“ He follows the taller boy, trying to stop him. Tommy pays no attention.

“Oi! Big man!” Tommy snaps his fingers as he approaches the figure hunched over the dirt. No robes cover his long-sleeved underclothing, no crown upon his head. “Big man!”

Techno’s ears perk, and he stands up while turning to meet Tommy. He towers over him by at least a forearm’s length, but the latter boy doesn’t seem to bat an eye.

“Heh?” Techno makes his little grunt of confusion, glancing from Tommy to Tubbo, who is standing behind the former boy, and back to Tommy.

“Tubbo’s made you a sword.” Tommy looks behind him, grabs the belt accompanied with said sword, and shoves it at Techno. Techno stumbles back a bit, stepping on a premature crop and hugs the sheathed sword to his chest out of surprise.

“Um—“ Tubbo starts.

Techno interrupts, not missing a beat since Tommy’s little outburst. “What’s it for? I already have a netherite one.” He unsheathes the sword and examines it further, its crystal composition glinting in the sunlight. “Though I am a sucker for diamond.” 

Tubbo’s face lights up. “Well, all the swords I made have at least the Smite and Looting enchantments,” he says, excited to finally be able to talk about it. Tommy tunes in, his interest piqued. “That’s why I used the enchantment table. An anvil too!”

“Smite?” Techno gives a little chuckle, but Tubbo doesn’t seem to back down. “I think that’s one of the most useless enchantments you can acquire.”

“Maybe!” Tubbo exaggeratedly waggles his finger. “Maybe. But not when you’re using it to kill withered skellies. Or the Wither.” He pauses, waiting for their reactions.

This is the first time Tommy hears why the swords are so important, and at this point, he is barely able to contain his energy, both from running and from future prospects that he is already imagining. Bouncing on the ball of his feet, he tears his eyes away from Tubbo to look at Techno with expectation.

Techno’s apathetic expression is broken by a large and quite sharp and toothy grin, one that can brighten up anyone’s dull day on a gloomy and hopeless evening. One of a young soul unhindered by complications. It’s a purely excited grin.

“Well then,” Techno starts, his voice monotone yet still adopting a jovial bearing. “That _does_ sound pretty cool.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Tommy shouts, getting more and more hyper by the second. “We’re doing it, boys! Slaying the fucking Wither!” He thrusts his fists up into the air, braces glinting in the late morning sunshine.

Tubbo copies Tommy. “Slaying the fucking Wither!”

They both look to Techno, who promptly catches onto the hint and exclaims, “Slaying the Wither!” His omission of the swear is befitting.

Tommy cheers in acclamation and Tubbo laughs. The trio shares this sacred and mutual moment between themselves for just a few ticks more. Some more whoops, some throaty chuckles.

It slowly dies down, mumbles and then a comfortable silence overtaking them afterwards. A chicken clucks somewhere among the bushes by the edge of the field, and a rush of wind whispers through their clothes.

Tommy breaks the silence. “Well, I think we’re going to tell Wilbur about this whole shtick, eh Tubbo?”

Tubbo only pats his friend’s shoulder in agreement, turning on their heel and heading back toward the base. Tommy watches their back for a few seconds before turning back to Techno.

“So just wear that bad boy for now.” He points at the sword and belt still in the other’s hands. “Needless to say get used to it, huh?” Tommy smiles as Techno chuckles at this last comment. He tries to go in for a hug, but the older pigman only frees one of his hands and puts it up for a high-five instead. Considering forcing Technoblade into his embrace, Tommy waves the thought away with warnings of getting knocked out and gives his friend a loud high-five. “Fuckin’ a, mate.”

Tommy follows Tubbo without looking back, and Techno situates his sword back into its sheath before donning the belt itself. He smiles to himself as he looks down at it, tapping his foot with excitement for a few moments more. Technoblade goes back to pulling potatoes, this time with a lighter heart and mirthful mood. 

The sun shines down on him differently.


End file.
